Dirty Old Woman
by Gypsy Love
Summary: Caitlin entertains some impure thoughts and actions regarding Craig, season 3, oneshot. No longer a oneshot, it's got another chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Caitlin shuddered, walking past Craig's room to get to Joey's. His door was half open and she could see him sleeping, could see his hair sticking to his forehead, one hand across his chest. The bottom of his feet, soft and vulnerable looking. She had the completely unexpected thought that maybe he was sexy, and what would it be like…and then she shuddered, rushed past, and into the warm dim glow of Joey's room.

"Hey, sexy," he said in his half joking Joey way, and Caitlin kicked off her high heels, her arches aching.

"Hey," she said, looking at the candle light reflected in his smooth head, but his dark eyes were just the same.

She climbed into his bed, shedding clothes as she went until she was down to her silk slip and lace bra. Joey ran a hand along her arm, and she closed her eyes and smiled. She wouldn't think about Craig, a child for God's sake, a 15 year old boy. Dirty old woman, she laughed at herself, and fell into Joey's embrace, tilted her head up for a deep and passionate kiss.

Next morning the thought the same, and she could barely look at Craig as he moved around the kitchen, dressed in flannel pajama pants, his smooth bare skin driving her a little mad. She could see the faint outline of his ribs, his shoulder blades, broad shoulders. He was already taller than Joey. His hair messy curly from sleep, obscuring his eyes. She observed him from the corner of her eye, and Joey's back was turned as he made a pot of coffee.

Saturday. The whole day stretching before them, although whatever she and Joey did would probably include Angela and exclude Craig. That was fine. She didn't know how much more of Craig she could take.

"What are your plans today?" Joey said, talking to Craig. Craig hunched over a bowl of cereal, shrugged, swallowed the bite.

"I don't know. Maybe go over Marco's,"

Caitlin smiled a little, remembering the vague mentions of going to friends' houses to cover for whatever it was that everyone was really doing. The secrets of being a teenager. And looking at him, his sleepy eyes, full pouty lips, she wondered what it was he thought of her.

"Okay," Joey said, easy going, and she thought Joey was sexy, too. She had for years. But this latest version, bald, lines around his mouth and eyes, this version was laid so lightly over all the other versions she had known, all the way back to seventh grade. Skinny dark haired boy, always laughing, joking, making her smile, making her feel like she wanted things.

They decided to take Angela to a matinee, and Joey bought big tubs of buttery popcorn and fat paper cups of soda and bags of gummi bears, Caitlin's absolute favorite movie snack. She only had a few of the white ones, pineapple, her favorite. Her hand touched Joey's in the popcorn tub and they laughed, kissed, and watched the movie. Out in the lobby, Angela had successfully nagged Joey to get a roll of quarters for the games and she played happily, shooting various monsters and machines with the cyber gun. The smell of the lobby, popcorn and slow cooking hotdogs and something else, the rug or the heater always reminded her of when she came to the movies every weekend. Closed her eyes and she was 12, exactly. No time had passed.

At Joey's late that night, cuddled up on the couch watching T.V., Angela in bed. Only the T.V. was on and they were in its fuzzy glow when the door burst open, letting in the cold, Craig stamping the snow off his boots.

"Hey," he said, his cheeks red from the cold, and he unwrapped the scarf, shrugged out of the jacket, and Caitlin caught her breath.

Friday, and Joey called her at her office.

"Caitlin, I'm kinda stuck. I have to go to this overnight business convention in Montreal and my mom's out of town, I need a sitter for Angela. Craig has plans,"

"Sure, I can do it," She tapped her pen on her desk, thinking she didn't mind, not at all, and it would be best that Craig wasn't there.

"Really? You're a lifesaver. Thanks. You know I love you,"

"I love you, too," She said, and then the dark thought crossed her mind. He didn't say that Craig wouldn't be there at all, just that he had plans.

Arriving after work, Joey packed and ready to go. Angela bounding toward her, her curly hair in pigtails.

"Auntie Caitlin!" And she smiled as Angela barreled into her arms. She was not Auntie Caitlin for Craig, she had never met him until he moved in with Joey.

Joey drove away and she watched him go, watched the car grow smaller in the distance. Goodbye Joey. Ordered pizza with all the toppings, ate at the coffee table in front of the tube. Played games and did puzzles until almost nine, and she had to tell Angie it was time for bed.

"Noooooooo,"

"Your dad said you had to be in bed an hour ago, so c'mon,"

That done, toothpaste all washed out of the sink, Angela in feety pajamas, story read, she crept back downstairs to zone out to some late night reruns. Comfortable on the couch, all wrapped up in the afghan Joey's mom had made, the extra long one. Toasty and warm and sleepy, watching the numbers on the clock creep by.

She sat straight up when she heard something at the door. Joey wasn't due back tonight. Her heart racing, she thought of her babysitting days in high school when she'd grab the sharp knife when she heard strange noises. Maybe it was Craig. She got up, feeling the chill in the room as the afghan fell away and she shivered, tiptoed to the window next to the door and peeked out. It was Craig, fumbling with his key.

She opened the door and he looked up at her and she knew right away he was drunk. The eyes. The smell of alcohol, whatever sickly sweet liquor they had drank. The way his fingers couldn't work the key.

"Craig," she said, surprise in her voice.

"Caitlin, is, uh, is Joey here?" Slurred speech but still a little fear in his eyes.

"No, he's at a business convention. Come on, come in, it's freezing out here,"

She helped him in, he stumbled, almost fell. She caught him and staggered under his weight. Out of his jacket and scarf, sitting on the stairs to take off his boots. What she should do is let him go to bed, sleep it off. Upstairs, away from her.

"Want to watch some T.V. with me?" she said, feeling absurdly hopeful that he would say yes.

"Sure," He came over to the couch slowly, sunk into the cushions. Caitlin could smell the cologne he wore, the smell of smoke from some bonfire, the smell of alcohol. She sat up straight. She could seduce him. She knew how. Just one hand on his knee, moving slowly up his thigh. One hand tugging on the button to his jeans. Just one kiss, her head tilted up to his, and then maybe, maybe…

They watched one half hour show, his eyes heavy. Caitlin moved away from him an inch or two to assuage her guilt, tried to concentrate on the show.

"Where's Joey?" he said, and she told him again. He was that drunk that he couldn't remember what she told him ten minutes ago.

"Craig, you better go up to bed," she said gently, and he nodded, stood up and walked slowly toward the stairs. She wrapped herself up in the afghan again, trying to recapture that warm sleepy feeling she had before he came home.

She heard a crash and sat bolt upright, flew up the stairs and into Angie's room. She was asleep. Craig's room, and Craig was getting up, holding onto the wall.

"Are you alright?" she said, and he nodded.

"Yeah, I just fell,"

Still unsteady and she went over to him, grabbed him around the waist and helped him to the bed. She could hear him breathing like drunk people tend to do, through their mouths. He looked at her next to him on the bed and his stare was charged. She blinked, and before she could help it she leaned into him, turned her face to his and kissed his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I've changed my mind, I like this idea and have decided to continue it…and it didn't hurt this decision that someone said they wanted more, that's all it takes. Thanks for reading and the feedback…awesome as always.**

Caitlin woke up on the couch, the sun shining in through the window across her face, making her squint. She felt guilty but was at first unsure why…the hazy thought floating through her mind, 'did I do something…' Then it came to her in full glaring color. Craig. Drunk. Kissing him. She kissed him, her boyfriend's kid, sort of. God. She closed her eyes, winced like she was in pain. Did she have no self control?

It was quiet in the house, she was the only one awake. Even the T.V. was silent. She didn't move, just laid there real still and hoped that Craig wouldn't remember. Maybe he had been too drunk, maybe he'd think he imagined it. What if he remembered?

She stood up, rubbing her arms against the early morning chill. Went into the kitchen to make coffee, to do something. As it brewed she dug out a cigarette from her stress pack. She liked to have an emergency pack of cigarettes just in case she felt a little overwhelmed. Maybe it was all in her head but a nice cigarette calmed her down and then she could do a tough interview, or go head to head with her boss, or face the teenage boy she took advantage of when he was drunk.

She was so Mary Kay Letorneau. How could she? What had she been thinking of? She blew her smoke toward the window above the sink that was open a crack, and she saw the snow outside glistening in the sun. Listened to the coffee brew with the hissing and gurgles. Hugged herself, slim comfort. Shit. What if Craig was mad? Mad enough to tell Joey?

Angela came down while she was on her second cup of coffee, the first had slid down her throat. The nicotine and caffeine had made her jittery, and she felt her heart racing. Angela smiled at her sleepily, and sat down at the table.

"Breakfast?" she said, knowing Angela liked elaborate breakfasts, French toast and waffles and syrup. She set about making breakfast foods, opening cabinets and turning on burners. As things cooked she was tempted to have another cup of coffee, her third, but decided not to. It would just put her over the edge.

"When's daddy getting home?" Angie said, and Caitlin frowned. She didn't know. She didn't know if she wanted to know.

"Not sure," she said, her voice vague, and then she heard Craig on the stairs.

He emerged into the kitchen still dressed in the clothes he was wearing last night except now they were all rumpled looking, slept in. He looked like his head hurt, but maybe she was projecting her memories of being hung over onto him. She had stopped breathing. She was afraid to speak to him, afraid he'd cut his eyes at her, refuse to speak to her. Breathless, she watched him open the refrigerator and push things aside. Watched how his muscles looked as he moved.

He popped open a can of soda and guzzled it, tilting his head back. Hung over thirsty, Caitlin knew. When she was really hung over she'd dream of drinking huge glasses of water and soda and ice tea. She could never get enough.

"Good morning," she said to him, a test. She watched him carefully, trying to infer his state of mind. Inscrutable, just like everything else in her life.

"Good morning," he echoed, toneless. No clue. Was he avoiding her gaze? Was he wondering just what sort of a person she was? He finished his soda and left without another word.

Paranoia and Caitlin were not unacquainted. He knew. He was oddly silent and he, he remembered. Maybe he wasn't even that drunk, but she shook her head. He was. His speech was slurred and he was stumbling, falling into walls. No matter. He'd tell Joey. He'd tell Joey what an awful, vexing woman she was. What a dirty old woman she was.

He'd gone back to his room, probably to sleep off the headache. That's really all you can do with a hangover headache, drink something and sleep it off. Angela had bounded upstairs to get dressed and Caitlin poured herself that third cup of coffee, against her better judgement.

The morning wore on, the paranoia making inroads to her brain like renegade veins, forging connections that should never have been there. She kissed him, that was all. She kissed him long and hard and not in any way was it appropriate but…it was a kiss.

Did she dare go upstairs and speak to him about it, or about anything? She didn't know, felt incapable of moving. Smoked another cigarette despite her rule of only one per day. She was breaking rules all over the place.

She went upstairs, crept, her footsteps as silent as she could make them. She wouldn't disturb him if he was sleeping. She'd knock lightly.

She tapped on the door, ready to bolt, ready to forget the whole thing.

"Yeah!" She jumped a little at hearing his voice. Felt strangely unreal, like she was made of plastic. She pushed on the door and went in.

His room was the typical teenage boy's room, posters of music groups and pictures of his friends tucked into the corners of mirrors. He had a lot of pictures hanging around and she remembered he used to take photos as a sort of hobby. The framed picture of him and his mother, Julia, had the place of honor on the high shelf above his bed. Julia. Joey's ex-wife. She sometimes forgot this connection between Craig and Joey.

"Um, hi, Craig," Awkward. What was she supposed to say? Do you remember when I shoved my tongue down your throat last night or were you too drunk? That would go over well.

"Hi," He was laying down on the bed, the back of his forearm over his eyes and the underside of his wrist was exposed. She could see the delicate tracings of the veins beneath his skin. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. She couldn't interpret his tone. Was he angry? Indifferent? Oblivious?

"Uh, can I sit down?" she said, and he sat up and made room for her next to him on the bed. So she sat down but as far from him as she comfortably could. He wouldn't look at her. She licked her lips, wished for a cigarette. Wished for a time machine so she could go back and erase what she had done.

"Listen, Craig…" She could kick herself. She couldn't just bring it up. What was she even doing in here? And now he was starting to look nervous, and he shifted his weight, took deep breaths. Did he think she might attack him again? Not that he wouldn't be able to stop her. Not that it mattered.

"Caitlin, wait, just…look, you don't have to tell Joey, do you?"

Her brain felt frozen. Tell Joey what? That she had kissed him? Did he think it was him, that he had made the advance on her? She squinted at him in confusion, didn't know what he was asking her not to do.

"Uh, no…I guess not. I don't have to tell Joey,"

His nervous agitation dissolved and he smiled at her, and she felt that lifting sinking feeling because she liked his smile, and she liked the way she felt when she was near him, and she was twice his age. She'd never felt so good and so bad at the same time.

"Thanks," he was saying, "it's just, I was pretty drunk and he doesn't even know I drink and he might be pissed off,"

Was that it? He didn't want her to tell Joey he was drunk? What about the rest of it? The kiss, her tongue in his mouth, her hands on his back and sliding down that young muscular body? What about that?

She smiled just a little and looked at his dark hazel eyes, his tousled hair, the shape of his lips. It was clear. She wanted to eat him. She wanted to devour him like some widow spider and what was she doing? What was she thinking?

"No problem," she said, and resisted the urge to touch his arm, "no problem,"


	3. Chapter 3

Outside, in the dim light of the porch, Caitlin smoked. She could see the yellow light as it lay on the brick wall, and how seeing lights on brick always reminded her of being very young for some reason. It made her feel almost happy. She inhaled the smoke, feeling the heady nicotine buzz that she could always feel, because she really didn't smoke that much.

She was out on the porch waiting for Joey. She was out on the porch trying to squash her impure thoughts. Craig. She watched him move, watched his muscles beneath his clothes, listened hard to his voice. Imagined kissing him, running her hands down his body, and she squeezed her eyes shut, twirled her cigarette as though the smoke could keep these thoughts at bay. It was one thing to lust after a 15 year old boy when you were 14 or 15, it was another thing when you were 30.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She took a drag on the cigarette and answered it.

"Hello, Caitlin Ryan," she said.

"Are you smoking?" It was Joey.

"No," She wasn't sure why she lied, but it seemed she had to hide all aspects of her amoral life.

"Yes you are," he laughed, "why do you lie?"

She shook her head, tossed the cigarette.

"Where are you?" she said, peering down the road as though she'd see his headlights any second.

"I'm stuck here another day. Can you hold down the fort?" he said, and she closed her eyes, let her head fall back against the rough brick.

"Sure," she said, "sure, no problem,"

She went through the motions of getting Angie ready for bed, all the while acutely aware that Craig was in his room. She could hear the music behind the door. Loud, rock n'roll with plenty of guitars screaming and wailing. He didn't listen to that much rap or even grunge nineties stuff. He seemed to like the big stadium rock from the 60' and 70's. It wasn't music that held much for her, seemed almost too masculine.

"Goodnight," she said, kissing Angie's cheek. Down the stairs, into the kitchen and into the cabinet that held Joey's wines. They were decent wines, no Zinfandel or Boone's Farm or Riunete. Top shelf wines. Joey was a bit of a wine snob. He thought nothing of spending a hundred dollars for a bottle, and she had to admit it was worth it. She poured herself a glass of a '97 dark Pinot, swirled it in her glass. Took a sip and waited to feel more relaxed.

She sipped and sipped and slowly the wine made its inroads to her worry. The thing with Craig was fine. He didn't even remember. He didn't. She could hear the music above her head from his room, heard it as she poured another glass.

Maybe it wasn't the best decision to go up to his room, just to see what he was doing. Just to see how he was. She knocked on the door loud enough to be heard over the music, and she heard his feet hit the floor as he got up to let her in.

"Caitlin," he said, and he looked almost sleepy. She thought she could smell pot and wouldn't have minded a hit. He squinted, and she thought he was high.

"Have any more?" she said, and he shook his head, tried to feign innocence.

"Any more what?" he said, still standing in the doorway. She lightly pushed past him and saw the freshly rolled joint on the corner of his dresser.

"C'mon, Craig, you know what. We're not telling Joey anything so what does it matter?"


	4. Chapter 4

Craig shrugged, and there was something so masculine and grown-up in the gesture that Caitlin blinked. He drank and smoked pot right under Joey's nose, and he lit up the half smoked joint and took a small hit before handing it to her. She really wasn't a threat to him, not as any sort of authority figure. She put it to her lips and inhaled deeply, trying to hold the smoke in like they taught her in college, all her former pot head friends who had gone on to coke and ecstasy and crystal meth.

A few more hits and she was feeling it, feeling spacey and disconnected and starting to think her weird thoughts. She noticed how the skin around his eyes was dark and appeared bruised because of his pale skin, how his eyes looked dark brown in the dim light of this room but she knew they were a funny green hazel. He was chameleonic. She thought about his dead father and the beatings he suffered at his hands and it made him a tragic figure, wise beyond his years. She watched as he got tweezers to hold the tail end of the roach and not burn his fingers.

She thought about the way there were layers to things. Layers to her relationship with Joey, all the past wrapped up in their present. She thought about the intricate relationships between people, how they were gossamer and intricate like spider webs. She thought about the 15 year age difference between her and this boy who stood in front of her, the age difference equal to his age right now, and somehow that seemed significant. It had to have meaning, all these round and evenly dividable numbers defining them. She could almost see the music as it filled his room, the crescendo of the guitars and drums pushing her higher and higher.

"Craig," she said, and noticed the texture of his name, rocky like the cliffs the name came from. Her name started with the same letter and was just as harsh, tripping over the c and l and n, the vowels stringing it together like some lacy silver between jewels.

"Yeah?" he said, and he was leaning back on his bed. She licked her lips. She felt herself drawn to him, felt every nerve ending alive with this desire that was wrong and right and beyond those judgments somehow.

"It's good stuff," she said, and laughed. The laughter came easily, everything was so amusing. He laughed too, and she realized he really didn't laugh too much. She couldn't remember ever hearing him laugh before. It was good stuff, or maybe it was just because it had been so long since she'd smoked.

She touched his thigh through his jeans, feeling the rough denim and his muscles beneath. He looked at her, lips parted, eyes half shut. Damn Joey and damn the age difference. Sometimes the tingling nerve endings want what they want. She leaned over to him, across the smoky air, the scent of his cologne and the scent of the mountain fresh detergent Joey uses, and she kissed him. Slow but insistent, she kissed him. This desire had been burning in her for days and she kissed him like drinking from a fresh water spring. Finally she quenched her thirst.

"Caitlin," he said, breathing her name and she could see it, papery thin in the air between them. She flicked his tongue with hers, she slid her hands from his shoulders to his chest and she could feel the beating of his heart.

"What?" she said, not letting him answer as she leaned in and kissed him again, her hands trailing down from his chest to his stomach, and she felt him pull away but she found him again, touching him and caressing him like she used to do with Joey so long ago, when the hormones raged just below the surface of their skin.

"Joey…" he said, a feeble protest that held no weight. She shook her head and reached for the buckle to his belt as she felt his back molars with her tongue. He was pinned beneath her, she was like an angel with wings beating furiously down, trapping him. Trapping them both.

She slid the belt from its loops and wondered if his father ever hit him with a belt. From the slight look of fear in his eyes she thought he might have, and she felt powerful with the belt in her hands. She touched it lightly to his skin and he shifted his weight on the bed, opened his mouth a little more and kissed her hungrily as she tapped him lightly with the edge of the belt.


End file.
